Remembering
by CelticRose1
Summary: Pre-Watson Sherlock in his druggie days remembering the two people who hurt him most. Inspired by "Jar of Hearts" by Christina Perri. Rated T for mentions of drug use and sex. I don't own Sherlock, BBC, that song, etc. R & R


Sherlock turns on the radio, fingers still graceful despite still riding the waves of last night's high. Strong stuff, that mix he'd used. Not his normal dose, but he had to see whether stronger necessarily meant better, or if the strength he had been using was what got him to his peak performance. Results: inconclusive. More testing would be needed.

**And who do you think you are, running 'round leaving scars?**  
**Collecting your jar of hearts and tearing love apart**

Oh, anything but this song! Sherlock stumbles back to the radio.

**You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul**  
**So don't come back for me, who do you think you are?**

Sherlock trips, pulling the radio with him. He manages to catch himself and the radio - more reflexes than conscious thought. He sets it back on the kitchen counter and turns it off before sinking to the floor, resting his head on his knees. That one song, no matter how long it's been, always seems to remind him of the two people he wants most to forget.

1) Irene Adler, The Woman, the first person to break his heart  
2) Mycroft, his brother, the one who raised him, then abandoned him when Sherlock turned to drugs for stimulation

"Why?" Sherlock asks the empty flat, "Why can't they just leave me alone?! Why can I delete everything but them?!" As usual the question remains unanswered, hanging in the air. Sherlock groans as memories he's tried and tried and tried to delete - or at least push back into the farthest corners of his mind palace - swirl forward.

* * *

She always comes first. The first time he met her.  
He'd been whoring in exchange for drugs or money for a bit when she showed up at his door with an idea and a whole lot of money.  
Sherlock had never tried bondage, so he was hesitant, but the lure of a new experience plus the thought of how long he could tide over his craving with the money he would get from this soon dispelled any doubts.  
He couldn't care less about what she looked like, he never cared. It wasn't about emotional attachment it was for the money so he could chase away the boredom. That's all that mattered - matters. Present tense.  
He thought it would be a once and done sort of job, most were and she didn't seem the type to stick around.  
Friday came and so did she.  
Same thing, same money. Sherlock actually had enough to pay the rent of a flat he'd been looking at and put some aside for later. Before he'd just been passing out in whatever alley he found himself in.  
He still didn't expect her to come back. She just wasn't that kind of person, that much he could deduce.  
But she did. And so on for months.  
Despite himself Sherlock felt himself slowly falling for this woman. He looked forward to when she next came. He was able to refuse any other offers because what she paid him was enough to cover his needs and then some.  
Then she stopped coming.  
A note came in the post.  
"Our little game was fun."  
That was it.  
Sherlock was heartbroken. He couldn't understand why. But he was. He spiraled deeper into the hazy drug-induced dreams he'd been delving into. He was still there, barely hanging onto life. He understands now why Mycroft always said love is a weakness.

Now come the memories of Mycroft, the brother who was more his mother and father than Sherlock's actual parents were.

* * *

Sherlock remembers the first time he heard his parents fighting and how he - a sobbing four-year-old - was comforted by his then eleven-year-old older brother.  
The time he fell off his bike the first time the training wheels were taken off and his brother was the one to put the plasters on his knees and kiss them better, not his socialite mother who was too busy organizing bake sales for orphans in India or whatever charity she was involved in at the time.  
How Mycroft got suspended for fighting with a group of bullies who had been antagonizing Sherlock, calling him a freak, all because he was cleverer than them and didn't understand why he couldn't just say the truth when it popped in his head.  
The memories fast forward to Sherlock on his first high, stumbling home and puking into the toilet. Mycroft was there to wipe off his forehead and lead him back to bed.  
As the pull of drugs got stronger on Sherlock, Mycroft started distancing himself from his younger brother.  
It all came to a head when Sherlock got arrested. It had happened before, and Mycroft was always there to bail him out and take him home, but this time when Mycroft came all he said was "I'm sorry."  
Mycroft cut off all contact from Sherlock, who by then had been cut off from the family money by his parents due to his drug habit.

* * *

Sherlock still hasn't forgiven either of them.  
"Why bloody should I?" he asks himself before getting up and checking the news to see if there were any new cases he could solve. Seeing nothing he set


End file.
